


Fleeting

by Tzipporrah



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Astral Projection, Canon Compliant, M/M, Mind Sex, Psychic Abilities, Regret, Sad with a Happy Ending, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tzipporrah/pseuds/Tzipporrah
Summary: An opportunity arises for Eliot to visit Quentin. They cover a lot of lost time in the short amount they are given.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Kudos: 21





	Fleeting

A hand thrust out of the rush of mist-water that was made of neither mist nor water, but a constant flow of silver-gray-white ether flowing by. Another hand came down from somewhere above the silver river, from inside an open door, reached down and grasped the one that was sticking out. With a strong tug, the arm came up, then a head, shoulders, torso, and legs, and suddenly Quentin Coldwater was dragged through the door, and into a compact sort-of room. The first thing he noticed was the white shag carpet under his hands and knees. The second thing he noticed was the tall, lanky man kneeling before him, panting heavily, and somehow laughing and crying simultaneously.  
"El- fuck. Eliot?" His voice cracked with the rush of emotion he felt at the sight. "How are you- is this? Did you die? Already?"  
"Oh, god no, Q," Eliot sighed, letting his shoulders drop and reaching out a hand to tentatively brush Quentin's cheek. "I'll explain, I promise. But I'm alive and well. I promise."  
"OK, good, because if you were dead, god damn it, I was going to kill you." Quentin laughed, crawling farther into the strange little room, and reaching for Eliot.  
They both laughed softly, wrapping their arms around each other, curling together as if pulled by magnets. But they couldn't stay that way too long, before they both pulled back to get a look at each other's face. Fingertips lightly traced over cheekbones, foreheads, jawlines, noses, chins.  
"So you survived?" Quentin asked, barely above a whisper. "It worked? He didn't come back?"  
"Yes, you saved me. And Julia. And Alice, and Penny, and everyone. The whole world. You asshole." Tears shoved themselves out from Eliot's eyes, rushing down his cheeks. "How could you leave us like that?"  
"It was- you know it was the only way, right? Fuck, El." Quentin held himself steady as the taller man crumpled into his neck and chest. "You must know I wanted to stay."  
"I do. I know. I just hurt so much without you here. Alice too. And Julia, fuck. She's taken up your goddamn hero's mantle." Eliot rolled his eyes. "She says she's trying to do good, but it sure looks like she's trying to get herself heroically killed."  
"How am I here, Eliot? What is this?"  
"I'm in the center of a circle of powerful psychics." Eliot wiped at his face, taking a few steadying breaths and pulling himself together. "They are astrally projecting me here. Sort of. This thing we're in-" he made a gesture, taking in the sort of space ship, sort of room- "is a construct. It's meant to feel a little like home, but-"  
"But it looks like the inside of the bottle in I Dream of Jeannie?" Quentin chuckled.  
"Yes. With colors more suited to the Cottage, but yeah. It's weird."  
"It is sort of cozy, though." Quentin murmured, sliding into Eliot's arms like he had done platonically, many times when he was alive. But this time, it was decidedly not platonic. Particularly because of the way he fit his mouth against Eliot's neck, and slipped his fingers under the edge of Eliot's shirt.  
"I'm so glad to see you, El." He whispered.  
"Oh, good," Eliot laughed, burying his hands in Quentin's hair -which was past his collar again. "I was getting worried, there for a minute."  
"You were worried?" He pressed hot kisses up towards Eliot's ear. "Who just chewed out whom?"  
"I know not of which you speak. Fuck, that feels good." Eliot's voice broke at the end, lust bursting past his facade of humor. He pulled Quentin up to straddle his thighs. "Why didn't we do this before? Oh, I remember, because I'm a fucking self-loathing asshole idiot."  
"Agreed." Quentin snickered, now working what would be a hickey if they were corporeal, on Eliot's collarbone. "Biggest mistake of your life. Now shut up and fuck me."  
A moan ripped itself from Eliot's throat, and he wrapped his hands around Quentin's ass, pressing him as close as possible in the position they were in. He fleetingly wondered if his physical form had popped a boner, as well, and if the psychics were aware of what the pair of them were doing. Then he decided not to give a shit, and kissed Quentin hard, rolling him onto his back on the floor. They started out enjoying the simplicity of removing each other's clothing, but urgency and common sense took over, and with a snap of his nimble fingers, Quentin had removed all the clothes that hadn't been there really, to begin with. And there he was, all softness and hardness, sharp angles and gentle touches, under Eliot, bracketed by his long arms. Within moments, they realized the usual rules didn't apply in this place, this mental, psychic, soul place. Their bodies fit together easily, so perfectly, without any work, without any outside help. They built each other into a frenzied pace, then slowed down again, trying to make it last. Realizing this was all there would be.  
"How much- ah- how much time do we have?" Quentin asked breathlessly, as Eliot stroked so slowly inside him.  
"An hour," Eliot answered, his voice gravel with the effort of moving so deliberately.  
Quentin dug his heels into Eliot's back, gripping his shoulders, and bucked harder, faster. Within a few more strokes, he spilled over like improperly opened champagne, and the sight took Eliot the rest of the way over his own edge. They wrapped around one another and breathed through the afterglow. In a few blinks, there was nothing to clean up. Without a real body, bodily fluids were completely imaginary, after all.  
"I love you," Eliot whispered, tears threatening to spill over afresh. "I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."  
"I know, El, shh," Quentin gentled him with one hand in his hair, the other on his broad back. "I love you too. And I know you regret it turning me down. I regret not kissing you in that moment, instead of asking you, and making it all weird."  
"I can't promise that would have gotten a better reaction out of me, Q." Eliot rubbed his nose against Quentin's throat. "I am a useless fuck up when it comes to real life adult shit."  
"Whatever. We've got right now, and that's more than we thought we'd have after I-"  
"Yeah."  
"How did you get here? You're not trying to bring me back, are you?" Quentin's voice carried quite a lot of concern.  
"No, haha. Alice already exhausted all possible ideas for doing that." Eliot proposed himself up on an elbow, looking down with an expression more open than usual. "Um, so, Hades came to me in a dream, actually."  
"Fuck, dude, really?" Quentin half sat up.  
"Mhm. He's really hot, by the way. Total zaddy." Quentin laughed, but didn't interrupt. "He said you and I had both earned a gift, somehow. Something to do with honor and sacrifice. Said it was what his wife would do, if that fucking Monster hadn't used my body to kill her."  
Eliot's eyes were lost, somewhere far away, burning with regret and disgust. Quentin scooped his face between his hands.  
"Hey, shh. That was NOT you. You didn't do any of those things."  
"I know, Q." Eliot let himself be bodily manipulated by Quentin's hands. "Doesn't stop me from seeing my own hands covered with a hell of a lot of blood."  
Quentin wrapped around him, shushing and petting, bringing what comfort he could to his broken love.  
"What matters now is what you choose to do next, El. Not what you did, or what was done using your body. You decide what's next."  
"Are you with your family, down here, Q?"  
"Ha, yes, actually." Quentin shifted to look at Eliot's face. "My dad was really surprised to see me so soon. Gave me a good speech. Arielle is here, too. And Teddy, and the grandkids, and great grandkids."  
"Arielle?" Eliot's back shot up straight. "Teddy? He exists? They - they remember you? Us?"  
"It really happened, El. No one will explain to me how. But it was real." Quentin had this expression Eliot had never seen on his face. Something like pride.  
"How are they all already- oh right." He flinched. "Fillory had a time jump."  
"I know, right?" Quentin had his nerd face on, now. All traces of the fatherly, grandfatherly mantle he had worn moments before evaporated. "There was a big mess down here, the waiting rooms were apparently overflowing, and the higher ups had a time straightening out how to deal with all of it."  
"Holy shit." Eliot hadn't realized how much damage that one detail in Fillory had caused. He wished there was a way to fix it, but time was a motherfucker.  
"Yeah. But what about you? Are you doing okay? Are you letting yourself live?"  
"You think so highly of yourself, now that you're dead, huh?" He chuckled ruffling Quentin's long brown locks, and got a level glare in response.  
"Fuck you, ya dick." Quentin laughed. "I mean, I know what you get like when you lose someone, and you don't normally know how to cope."  
"I know. And I did my usual shit, for a while." Eliot's voice and eyes were more focused. "I quit drinking, though. And I'm trying to live."  
"Good, that's so good. God, I'm so proud of you, El." He tipped his face up and kissed Eliot softly. "I want you to be happy. I want you to live the fuck out of your life. I want you to have kids."  
"What?" Eliot's eyes flew wide. "What makes you think I want them?"  
Quentin tipped his head to the side and gave him a knowing look. "Because you were a good father to Teddy. You loved the living daylights out of him, from the time he was born. I want that for you again, for real this time, whatever that means."  
"I'm not- I am a shitty human, at best, barely an adult." Eliot's face was crumpling inwards. "Hardly even a passable friend. The literal worst husband. What makes you think I can be a father without you there to guide me, and be one with me?"  
"You've already done it, dude." Quentin was so close, brushing their noses together, delicately fingering the curls at the nape of Eliot's neck. "Fix your shit, go to therapy, fucking talk to people. Not just to Margo, but especially to her. You're a really good magician, and very charismatic. You could get a really good career doing whatever you want. Start that spa or whatever it was you and Margo wanted."  
"God, Q, that was a million years ago." He pulled Quentin with him to lean against the endless white circular couch behind them. "All Margo can think about anymore is Fillory. She still wants to be High King. I can't think why. They don't want us anymore. But where she goes, I go."  
"Okay, maybe start a spa there, then? I don't know." Quentin ran his hands through his hair like he used to when he was stressed. "Figure something out. But you'd better fucking live, god damn it. I won't have you drinking yourself to death in a dark room somewhere because you didn't get what you wanted. Disappointment is what got us where we were, in the first place. Otherwise, we never would have even met."  
Eliot stared across at the teal patterned, rounded wall, processing. "I'll try. I'll see what I can come up with."  
"And treat Fen better." Quentin interjected. "It's not her fault she was born into a ridiculous birthright law. It's not her fault Ember chose a man who isn't attracted to women to wear the crown. Either figure out how to get a divorce in Fillory and set her free, or find a guy you both like, who likes both of you, and have the happy polyamorous family you've always wanted."  
"That's actually not a bad idea." Eliot smirked, pressing a kiss to Quentin's jaw.  
"I know. Where do you think I got the idea?" He gestured at the pair of them. "It worked once before. It would have continued working, had Arielle not gotten sick. We were all so happy. I want you to have that. If I have to haunt you until you get off your ass and work for it."  
"Okay." Eliot smiled, placing more gentle kisses on Quentin's forehead, nose, lips. "I think our time is almost up. I don't want this to end, Q."  
"I know, El." Quentin whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. "I would move into this ridiculous genie bottle with you and live a hundred years, if I could."  
"I'll be back, someday."  
"Better be a long fucking time, though." Quentin climbed back into his lap, converting their shared pain into a final attempt at lust. "I want to see wrinkles."  
"I'll show you wrinkles, Coldwater." Eliot taunted, dragging Quentin's hand down to his balls. "Is that wrinkly enough for you?"  
Quentin laughed and directed his attention slightly above where his hand had been placed. "Not yet."  
He cut off any attempt at a smart ass retort from his love with a biting, open mouthed kiss. They touched each other with a fervent urgency, knowing they had only moments left. And just as the nonexistent blood was beginning to slow in their metaphorical veins, holding each other closely, it was over. Eliot was alone in the funky little room, sitting bare-assed on the white shag carpet, tears silently streaming down his face, down his chest. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was fully dressed, sitting on a cushion in the circular tower room, surrounded by thirteen of the most powerful psychics in the world. The huge labradorite, carved in the shape of a three headed dog, sat in the space between his thighs, and a large, warm black onyx rested in each of his open palms. The air smelled of frankincense and jasmine, and there was a soft, hushed sound of people quietly meditating around him. He cleared his throat, bringing his hands together and slipping both stones into his right, then using his left to bear his weight so he could pull himself up to stand. He noted, as he smoothed any wrinkles out of his pants, that he did not in fact have an erection, thankfully. Nor was the inside of his designer underwear coated with any proof of what had gone on in his mind. Or what his mind had gotten up to on the astral plane-- however it worked. Very little of it had made any sense to Eliot, but he had enthusiastically consented to go along with the brief quest, at the thought of seeing Quentin one last time. He had decided to keep this foray into the afterlife to himself. Or maybe he'd tell Margo. But no one else needed to know. These memories were for him and Quentin, and they were too precious to share with more than his beloved platonic soulmate. He cleared his throat, wondering what the protocol was, next. The woman in charge, who sat directly across from the pillow he'd previously been stationed upon, opened her eyes and smiled warmly.  
"Thank you, really." Eliot said, in hushed, polite tones. "This was… you don't know how much it means to me. To us both."  
"You are most welcome, Mr. Waugh." She responded. "You may go, now. We will send you our bill."  
Well, shit, he thought. He'd hoped a handwritten thank you card and a well procured gift basket would do it, but no. He was going to have to get on that career idea Q had had, sooner rather than later. He bowed uncomfortably, trying to show respect, but feeling ridiculous, found the door to the stairs, and descended to the main floor. There was a sign out sheet, as he found out by way of a cute young man with deep dark eyes and immaculately cared for locs, who held out the clipboard with a polite, "Wait a minute."  
Eliot flashed his most genuine smile, and signed, as if he wasn't promising to give these people his second born child, or a kidney, or something. Hopefully, just money.  
"I'm Marius, by the way." The man offered warmly. "Here's my card. If you're ever in town, definitely give me a call."  
Eliot took the card and slipped it into his pocket, this time with a befuddled smile.  
"I definitely will." He murmured. "I'm Eliot, by the way. Nice to meet you."  
"Nice to meet you too. I hope you're leaving us with less of what you were carrying when you arrived."  
"I am. Thank you."

He stepped out into the sunlight and let himself feel it, for the first time in a long time. It felt good. It felt like a promise he could maybe keep.


End file.
